The Forerunner Part 113

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The department of "Personal Problems" does not discuss etiquette, fashions or the removal of freckles. Foolish questions will not be answered, unless at peril of the asker.

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THE FORERUNNER

A MONTHLY MAGAZINE

BY

CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN AUTHOR, OWNER & PUBLISHER

1.00 A YEAR .10 A COPY

Volume 1. No. 11 SEPTEMBER, 1910 Copyright for 1910 C. P. Gilman

Your Unborn Grandchild is more real then your Buried Grandfather.

Let us then Obliterate Graveyards and Build Babygardens.

TO-MORROW NIGHT

Marginal mile after mile of smooth-running granite embankment, Washed by clean waters, clean seas and clean rivers embracing; Pier upon pier lying wide for the ships of all seas to foregather, Broad steps of marble, descending, for the people to enter the water, White quays of marble, with music, and myriad pleasure-boats waiting; Music of orchestras playing in blossoming parks by the river, Playing on white-pillared piers where the lightfooted thousands are dancing, Dancing at night in the breeze flowing fresh from the sea and the river; Music of flute and guitar from the lovers afloat on the water, Music of happy young voices far-flying across the bright ripples, Bright with high-glittering ships and the low rosy lanterns of lovers, Bright with the stars overhead and the stars of the city beside them, Their city, the heaven they know, and love as they love one another.

MR. ROBERT GREY SR.

I thought I knew what trouble was when Jimmy went away. It was bad enough when he was clerking in Barstow and I only saw him once a week; but now he'd gone to sea.

He said he'd never earn much as a clerk, and he hated it too. He'd saved every cent he could of his wages and taken a share in the Mary Jenks, and I shouldn't see him again for a year maybe,--maybe more. She was a sealer.

O dear! I'd have married him just as he was; but he said he couldn't keep me yet, and if they had luck he'd make 400 per cent. on his savings that voyage,--and it was all for me. My blessed Jimmy!

He hadn't been gone but a bare fortnight when "unmerciful disaster followed fast and followed faster" on our poor heads. First father broke his arm. There was the doctor to pay, and all that plaster cast thing, and of course I had to do the milking and all the work. I didn't mind that a bit. We hadn't any horse then, to take care of, and Rosy, our cow, was a dear; gentle as a kitten, and sweet-breathed as a baby.

But it put back all the farm work, of course; we couldn't hire, and there wasn't enough to go shares on. Mother was pretty wretched, and no wonder.

And then Rosy was stolen! That did seem the last straw. As long as Rosy was there and I could milk her, we shouldn't starve.

Poor father! There he sat, with that plaster arm in the sling--the other one looking so discouraged and nerveless, and his head bowed on his breast; the hand hanging, the strong busy fingers laxly open.

"I'll go and look," he said, starting up, "where's my hat?"

"It's no use looking, father," said I, "the halter's gone, there are big footprints beside her hoof-marks out to the road, and then quite a stamped place, and then wagon wheels and her nice little clean tracks going off after the wagon. Plain stolen."

He sat down again and groaned.

"Thought I heard a wagon in the middle of the night," said mother, weakly. Her face was flushed, and her eyes ran over. "I can't sleep much you know. I ought to have spoken, but you need your sleep."

I ran to her and kissed her.

"Now mother dear! Don't you fret over it,--please don't! We'll find Rosy. I'll get Mrs. Clark to 'phone for me at once."

"'Phone where?" said father. "It's no use 'phoning. Its those gypsies.

And they got to town hours ago--and Rosy's beef by this time." He set his jaw hard; but there were tears in his eyes, too.

I was nearly distracted myself. "If only Jimmy were here," I said, "he'd find her!"

"I don't doubt he'd make a try," said father, "but it's too late."

I ran over to Mrs. Clark, and we 'phoned to the police in Barstow, and sure enough they found the hide and horns! It didn't do us any good.

They arrested some gypsies, but couldn't prove anything; shut one of 'em up for vagrancy, too,--but that didn't do us any good, either. And if they'd proved it and convicted him it wouldn't have brought back Rosy,--or given us another cow.

Then mother got sick. It was pure discouragement as much as anything, I think, and she missed Rosy's milk,--she used to half live on it. After she was sick she missed it more, there were so few things she could eat,--and not many of those I could get for her.

O how I did miss Jimmy! If he'd been there he'd have helped me to _see over_ it all. "Sho!" he'd have said. "It's hard lines, little girl, now; but bless you, a broken arm's only temporary; your father'll be as good as ever soon. And your mother'll get well; she's a strong woman.

I never saw a stronger woman of her age. And as to the food--just claim you're 'no breakfast' people, and believe in fasting for your health!"

That's the way Jimmy met things, and I tried to say it all to myself, and keep my spirits up,--and theirs. But Jimmy was at sea.